


another problem (that you really don't want)

by zarahjoyce



Series: no rhyme and no reason [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Series, The King Beyond the Wall, The Queen in The North, anyway i tried, kinda smutty maybe, these two idiots who loved each other so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 03:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19804213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: Sansa has long since learned to quell the urge to cry, and she usesallher skills now as she lies beside him - in what may be their last time together.Jon won't see how she's become so dependent on him, despite not meaning to.Jon won't see how much the very thought of him leaving is tearing her apart.Jon won't see how much he is hurting her, by choosing not to stay.She is a Queen. She isstrong.Or at least, let him think that I am.





	another problem (that you really don't want)

Sansa turns to her side of the bed, slightly out of breath. Beside her, Jon shifts closer; she can feel his fingers ghost along the side of her arm, making her close her eyes, making her shiver.  
  
She swallows the urge to face him, despite wanting to; instead she bites her lip and breathes deeply.  
  
Or at least, tries to anyway.  
  
There is a heaviness inside her chest that refuses to go away. No matter what she does, the reason for it will not leave her, and certainly she knows _why_ :  
  
The fortnight has ended; with it, their agreement.  
  
And he is to leave.  
  
_Tomorrow_.   
  
It's something they both know but won't acknowledge - at least, not out loud. And yet Sansa can feel it tonight - in the desperate pull of his arms when they met in her chambers, in the way she kisses him, long and deep and wanting.   
  
"Sansa," he says now, and she can feel his mouth on her shoulder, trailing wet kisses on the skin uncovered by her shift.  
  
She bites her lip harder, refuses to give in to the wanton desire to turn towards him and just _take_ him, for if she does, then he will surely see her pain - and she desperately does not want him to.   
  
Sansa has long since learned to quell the urge to cry, and she uses _all_ her skills now as she lies beside him - in what may be their _last_ time together.   
  
Jon won't see how she's become so dependent on him, despite not meaning to.  
  
Jon won't see how much the very thought of him leaving is tearing her apart.  
  
Jon won't see how much he is hurting her, by choosing not to stay.  
  
She is a Queen. She is _strong_.  
  
_Or at least, let him think that I am._  
  
Sometimes she thinks that this agreement had been a mistake. She shouldn't have accepted his offer, shouldn't have let him love her the way he did, shouldn't have wanted more than what he was willing to give--  
  
And yet she does not regret this; she _cannot_.  
  
She places her hands on her stomach and whispers to whoever is listening: _please, please, please._  
  
_Please let me have a child._  
  
_Please give me someone else to love._  
  
_Please give me someone who won't leave._  
  
Jon then places a warm hand on her thigh, dragging her shift up, _up,_ before snaking a hand around her stomach and settling it on top of both her own.  
  
Sansa inhales swiftly. _Gods_ , but letting him go would have been easy - had Jon Snow been anyone else _but_ him.  
  
Jon, who acts as her adviser and supporter and all she dreams a husband to the Queen _should_ act.  
  
Jon, who has shown her that being bedded by a man need _not_ be painful or humiliating.  
  
Jon, whom she _loved_ with every fiber of her being.  
  
And he is to leave.  
  
_Tomorrow_.   
  
"Are you all right?" he asks from behind her.  
  
_No._  
  
Sansa takes his hand and, because she is _weak_ , brings it to her mouth and kisses the back of it.  
  
She can _feel_ his sharp intake of breath, so close his skin is to hers now. "Sansa?"  
  
_Please don't leave me._  
  
"Jon," she whispers. "Do you think we've--?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Succeeded," Sansa finishes, somewhat lamely.   
  
He plants a kiss on her nape, making her tremble. "If we did, will you tell me?"  
  
Thoughts of her with a babe suckling on her breast and him looking at them fondly dance in her head, making her chest ache more than it should - for she knows they will _never_ come to pass.  
  
Not if he is to leave her tomorrow.  
  
She licks her lips and asks, "Do you want to know?"  
  
_What for?_ she wants to demand from him - but doesn't.  
  
"I'm sure she'll be beautiful," he says instead, after some quiet moments.  
  
Sansa frowns. "She?"  
  
"Aye. A daughter. She will have your eyes, I think. My hair, if she's unlucky."  
  
Despite herself, she smiles. "Why? I happen to think your hair's the most appealing part of you."  
  
He chuckles. " _Just_ my hair, Your Grace?"  
  
"Well," Sansa says, turning to face him now. "Among your other... _things_."  
  
She is greeted with a rare sight - of Jon _smiling_ at her. "I am pleased to be of service to you, My Queen, however _appealing_ you find me to be." He then takes her hand and kisses each finger, his eyes never leaving hers.  
  
_Oh, Jon._  
  
Sansa sighs, savoring the moment as best as she can. "I imagine having a boy though," she confides in him while trailing circles on his chest, feeling oddly vulnerable as she speaks. "With my hair and your eyes." She pauses, and says the next words with some difficulty, "And he will grow up to be brave, I believe. Brave and gentle and strong."  
  
_Like his father._  
  
Something flickers in his eyes, making them even darker. "What would you name him?"  
  
She shrugs. "Whatever _you_ want to call him."  
  
Jon closes his eyes for a moment, then places a hand on her nape and draws her to him - his mouth devouring hers as if starved. Without breaking contact Sansa pushes him to his back and crawls over him; soon she is straightening herself and straddling him, his hands automatically settling on her hips to anchor her.  
  
For a moment Sansa just _looks_ at him, as if memorizing everything about this moment - then without thinking she places her hands on the edge of her shift and pulls up, _up,_ until she's bared _all_ of herself to him.   
  
He makes a sound as though he's choking. His eyes travel all over the body he _never_ gets to see fully - from her neck to the slope between her breasts down to her--  
  
Swiftly Jon moves up until he's sitting and kissing her, hard and heady and _hungry_ , and soon Sansa cannot focus on _any_ _thing -_ except the feel of his mouth and his hands and-- _oh gods_ \--   
  
His touch is enough to almost make her forget that he's leaving tomorrow.  
  
That they _never_ talked about what comes after.  
  
That they _never_ decided about her telling him about the child - if she _does_ conceive after this string of encounters.  
  
Well.   
  
_Almost,_ anyway.


End file.
